The sky was enormous. He preferred the bottom half.
Among young eagles, there were several respectable reasons to land.
Catching food was one.
Sleeping was another.
Being tired was acceptable, provided nobody saw it.
The little eagle had invented a fourth:
he liked it down there.
While the others climbed into the morning sky, he skimmed above the meadow, slipped between trees, and landed on a fence post.
Again.
“You know you’re an eagle?” called one from above.
He looked at his wings.
“Still.”
The others disappeared toward the cliffs.
He stayed.
A grasshopper jumped beside the post.
He watched it vanish beneath a leaf.
A field mouse crossed between two stones.
He watched that too.
Then a gust turned the silver undersides of several leaves toward him.
The little eagle tilted his head.
By noon, the others returned with magnificent reports.
They had seen three valleys.
A river.
Two distant mountains.
One claimed to have seen the sea.
Nobody believed him, but it improved lunch.
“What did you see?” they asked the little eagle.
“A mouse.”
Silence.
“It was quite fast.”
That did not improve lunch.
The next morning, everyone climbed again.
The little eagle tried.
He really did.
Up past the trees.
Past the ridge.
Higher—
then he looked down.
The meadow had become a green handkerchief.
The trees looked like broccoli.
His stomach made a private decision.
He descended.
Quickly.
He landed beside a group of rabbits who scattered in every direction.
“Sorry.”
The rabbits did not return to discuss it.
By afternoon, clouds had gathered beyond the ridge.
The high-flying eagles were still far away when the little eagle noticed the leaves below him flashing silver again.
Then the grasshoppers disappeared.
The swallows dropped closer to the ground.
He moved beneath a rocky ledge.
Minutes later, rain swept across the meadow.
When the others finally returned, wet feathers stuck out in directions no eagle would voluntarily choose.
They found him dry beneath the ledge.
One stared at him.
“You knew?”
The little eagle glanced at the rain.
“The grasshoppers left.”
The eagle looked offended.
“You take weather advice from grasshoppers?”
“They were dry.”
Nobody had a good answer for that.
The next morning, the flock rose into a perfectly blue sky.
The little eagle returned to his fence post.
A moment later, another eagle landed beside him.
“Just checking the grasshoppers.”
“Of course.”
They sat quietly.
Above them, the sky stretched wide and beautiful.
The little eagle looked up.
Then down.
The grasshopper was back.
For now, that was high enough.
Livora Gracely 
Leave a comment